thoughts...

I have learnt not to measure life by the moments I draw breath, but by the moments that take my breath away

THROUGH THE DARK

  The conference had ended and everyone had left, inspired. As I sat on the luxury bed of that five-star hotel, I was grateful to God for his mercies. Every participant in that women’s conference had gone home with a determination in their hearts to positively influence their world. Women also had a right to be nation transformers. The kingly treatment or the honorarium that I received was not the source of my joy. My happiness was anchored in the conviction in the hearts of my listeners to aspire for greatness via service. But how did an abused, rejected fellow like me rise to be a beacon of hope and a lighthouse to the weary sailor in the stormy seas of life.
      If we all had a chance to choose our parents, I would have been the beloved daughter of a duke, brought up in a splendid castle. But I was born an orphan in an isolated clan. So short was my father’s lifespan. Dying in order to bring me into this world wasn’t in my mother’s plan. Before he died, Mazi Okenna – my grandpa’s younger brother – told me that on that day, there was no celebration that a girl child had been born. Instead of a treasure to be cherished, I was a liability to be borne. Hearing it was so painful. A meeting was summoned and I – who was less than a month old – was the main agenda. No one wanted to take me in. They all had enough mouths to feed. Being the head of our extended family, he commanded his first son, Udemba, to take me in. That settled it. Even in his first son’s house, I was treated as an osu – an outcast.
      On the threshold of adolescence, I was taken away to the city by people I never knew before that dreadful day. In a place illuminated by electricity, I was lost. With the dawn of puberty came the forceful deflowering of my maidenhead by my guardian’s husband. Darkness was a time of terror, for he subsequently abused me sexually every night with a rag in my mouth to stifle my midnight cry. Alas, amidst the busyness of city life, I had no one to trust; deep inside, I was all alone.
      Palm kernels – eaten together with friends in the village – gave strength to the body and health to the bones, than spoilt food heated over a stove. I was so depressed that I lost the taste of food, the freshness of clean water and the touch of grass. I was naked in the dark. It was more cheerful to pitch tent in a graveyard than hang around me. Finally I had to run away from home…. No! Was that home? It was just a shelter. Home is in my heart.
      What really happened that turned my life around I can’t say. Just as a man can’t say how much weight he added from a particular meal, so also I couldn’t lay my finger on one particular incident. But one of the most crucial was when I discovered that even if I had lost everything, I still had the power to choose. I chose to forgive all that had hurt me. It wasn’t romantic.
      I chose to be that oasis in the desert for that weary traveller who was beginning to believe he couldn’t make it in the journey called life. Through faith in God and confidence in myself, I slowly but gradually arose from the dunghill like a light awakening from the ashes, like fire tempered from smoldering coals. Now, the once hopeless now dispenses hope.
       I needed to unlearn the evil that pain had taught me. I had to learn new things in order to become a new person. I learnt God’s mathematics: Joy adds and multiplies as you divide it with others.
      When I told Ezinne, my best friend, my story, after a long pause she said, “Ifunanya, God will mend even a broken heart if we give him all the pieces.” And that was what I did. I gave him my heart and he made it whole again. Now, the shadows of the past doesn’t hurt me anymore, rather it makes me believe that I can be an agent of change to the needy around me. After all, only a physician who has suffered the same disease as his patient will fully understand the extent of the pain….
       I kept thinking about all these until sleep wrapped its warm blanket around me.
      The next day after the conference, I flew back to the orphanage I managed. Nothing gladdened my heart like the smiles on their faces as they cried, “mummy” when they saw me. Me, who had no mother.

Just Like My Mother

Adum international school once sat upon the prestigious throne of the
best in the state. Not just for its teachin ability but also for her
ability, lyk a skilful carver, to create masterpieces out of the lives
of young children. Inculcating in them priceless values.
It was a reference point for excellence. Every child wantd to b there.
At state and national competitions, they won landslide victories.
There were only two schools in the old Gongola state: Adum
International and others. It was the north star of any school
proprietor navigating the stormy academic seas. The school was their
compass, their map, their manual. Their standards were high and their
morals were strict.
In the midst of the schools environment was the security post. It was
different. It looked like an irritating stain in a well-tailored robe.
The faded yellow paint on its walls silently cried out for aid. The
office had a rust-coated ceiling fan, a non-functional wall clock, a
crucifix on the wall amidst old and obsolete furniture. The carpet was
torn in many places and the dirty curtains helped make the office look
like the modern adaptation of amadioha's shrine. The roof of the
buildin was very very rusty. Like the little boy who walked into the
school premises on one of life's many fateful days. He was accompanied
by a woman in her mid-thirties. It was their first time of comin to
Adum International. For the boy, it was the first amongst many to
come. For the woman, it was not just her first...it was also her very
last. Although fate had hidden it from her at the moment.
Right from the first instant, the little boy, Oluebube Isaac Ephraim,
was a strange lad. After his first day in school, when it seemed his
smile could lighten up the whole class, he gradually withdrew into his
shell as the days passed by, like a bonfire slowly dying out.
His promotion from primary one to two was by a very small margin -
many of yet to come. He had no friends. It seemed as though he enjoyed
the comfort of his own company. Many times he was caught talkin to
himself...or maybe someone only he could see. His outfit was unable to
conceal the fact that he was a handsome lad. His fair complexion was
complemented by his very black curly hair. All these features combined
wit a pointed nose and hazel eyes helped raise suspicions that he was
half-caste. But was he? Maybe time would tell.
Nothwithstanding his charming, disarming smile and well-sculptured
face, many did not lose their fear of him. Both teachers and students
alike. He was always the brunt of insults from several bullies, yet he
paid them no heed. This infuriated them the more. Then one day,
something happened! He was in primary four then. It was reported by
eye witnesses that in a blind fit of rage, he had grabbed a bully in
class six, lifted him high and threw him down from the balcony of the
second floor of one of the school's many three-storey buildings! The
victm only escaped wit a fractured ankle, a dislocated elbow and minor
bruises. That was absurd. Where had the strengthh com from? When asked
wat promptd his action, he said the bully insulted his mother. After
he was disciplined,he was asked if he had learnt his lesson well. He
replied with fire in his hazel eyes and an unnatural voice, "NOBODY
INSULTS MY MOTHER!" With this incident, the mystery about him
intensified...
When Ebube got promoted to class five, he was placed in Aunty Tricia's
class. In no time, it was clear to his classmates that he liked his
new teacher. On children's day, the pupils were asked to present gifts
to their teachers. They had been told aforehand. Everyone's gift was
wrapped in shiny wrappers. But as usual, Ebube's gift was unusual. It
was in a black nylon bag.
When it got to his turn, the teacher was very uncomfortable. She did
not know what to expect from him. He opened the nylon bag and brought
out a bracelet made with beads. Half of the beads its beads wre
missing. In order to make him happy, she quickly stretchd forth her
hand and he put it on her. She thanked him. Then he smiled and said,
"You look jus like my mother."
Aunty Tricia was stunned but Ebube was not thru yet.
He brought out a half-filled bottle of perfume and gave it to his
teacher. His classmates sniggered but he paid them no heed. In order
to put them to shame, the teacher put a little of it on herself and
acknowledged Ebube's gift as the best. The other children got angry.

When he was through, he said, "Now you smell just like my mother..."
then he turned around and as he headed to his seat, added in a ghostly
whisper, "...bfore she fell ill and left me." he walked back slowly to
his seat. Everyone was listening, but only Aunty Tricia heard what the
lonely boy had said.
With that little revelation, she sought for more information about
him. She discovered that his mother had died a short while after he
was admitted into the school. Apart from paying Ebube's school fees,
the father was not interestd in his son's welfare. This explained why
Ebube was hostile to any male teacher that crossed his path. It
explained so many things. After that discovery and several other
discoveries, she made up her mind to always be therefor him. That was
where their journey - Ebube and Aunty Tricia's journey - began. She
organized private lessons for him and every facet of his ife improved.
Even when he left Adum International as the best student in his set,
and got admitted into a unity school, nobody was surprised. Aunty
Tricia had done a good work on Ebube. When he left the school, they
remained in contact wit each other. She was always available to advise
the fair-skinned boy on anything. From the normal to the absurd.
Absolutely anything.
6 years after he left primary school, she received a letter. It was
from Oluebube Ephraim. He had passed his WAEC in flyin colours and had
gained admission to study law in a prestigious university in the
country. He had been placed on scholarship by the chairman of his
school's Parent Teacher Association. Aunty Tricia was overjoyed. But
God was not through yet.
They still remained in contact with each other. When she was getting
married, he played a very significant role. To her he was a younger
brother from another father. That was in his first year in the
university.
Then seven years after the last letter, another letter came from
Ebube. It was to inform her that he had graduated as the best student
in his faculty and also finished law school in flying colours.
After that, there was a communication gap between them. Aunty Tricia
had relocated wit her family and they had misplaced each other's phone
number.
So it was wit a mixture of fear and anxiety that she opened the box
that arrived in her name 18 years after her first encounter with
Ebube. She opened the box. It was from Ebube. It contained a letter; a
very nice piece of expensiv fabric; a parcel that cntained a handbag,
a pair of exquisite shoes, wristwatch, and a make-up kit: all made by
Georgio Armani; a jewellery set and an invitation card. He was gettin
married. Her joy knew no bounds.
Afta thankin her for the role she played in his life, he requested
that he wantd her to b a member of the high table at his wedding. But
that was not all. He said, "I want you to sit where my mother would
have sat if she were stil alive."

As aunty tricia finishd wit d leta, her husbnd came in and read d
leta. As d tears welled up in her eyes, she made to clean it. Her
husband stopped her. He said to her, "Rememba wat u use to say: not
all tears are an evil." then they hugged themselves and jubilated for
ebube.

Angels on Guard. Keep off! Part 2

Then Andronicus went ahead to tell them of the fallen demon's triumphs.
He told his listeners that during the destruction of Sodom and
Gomorrah, Chemosh knew that the angelic visitors to the city were not
there on a picnic. His suspicions were confirmed when the mob outside
Lot's house that were edged on by his minions were struck blind.
Immediately, he fled to Nineveh to escape being destroyed.
Many decades later before Babylon was destroyed, Chemosh perceived
that the great city was in grave danger when gates were always shut at
night were left wide open obviously by means pioneered by the host of
heaven. He lied to his superiors and subordinates that he had an
important assignment in Jerusalem. He was needed to help oppress the
minds of the remnants in the land. That was before the battle for
Babylon turned in the favour of the army of heaven.
 As Andronicus spoke, a cock crowed. That was the first of many yet to come.
He said, "i had previously wondered at his ingenuity without coming to
the fact that all Chemosh had was an understanding of times and
seasons. He bore at heart Isaiah's prophecy concerning Cyrus, the
persian king that went ahead to conquer Babylon during the reign of
Belshazzar, son of Nebuchadnezzar. Isaiah's prophecy abt a man named
Cyrus was fulfiled with Cyrus' birth 175 years after the word had gone
forth. Chemosh steadily monitored the slow rise to prominence of the
Cyrian and particiularly took interest when the Cyrian king began to
plan an assault on Babylon. Our enemy was confident that Babylon's
demon prince could contain Cyrus. However, he knew that the reign of
the head of Gold in Daniel's vision had ended and now was the season
of the breast and arms of silver, when he saw a contigent of heavenly
warriors from the south launch a surprise attack on the over-confident
demonic ranks. Though small in number, he knew that it was a factor of
persistent, heartfelt prayers and a larger force, more daring than the
first, would arrive."
Andronicus paused like someone who was trying to recollect something,
then exclaimed, "if I am not mistaken, the both of you were among that
contigent that--"
"Now I remember and understand," blue-eyed Olyrus exclaimed. "That was
one of earth's decisive battles ever fought. Though few in number, all
we had to do was stand firm and hold them back until re-inforcement
came. Words cannot tell the joy that filled our hearts as we saw the
Archangel Gabriel leading the fiercest of warriors to ever grace the
field of battle. Only on rare occasions had a host like that been
summoned. It was their arrival that hastened the defeat of the enemy,
then the watchmen were induced into deep sleep, leaving the gates of
the city wide open. Then the armies of the Medes and Persians
possessed the city. It was only after we had won that the writing on
the wall was done by Michael."
After all they had been told, Zenas and Olyrus still didn't understand
how that had created a personal animosity between the angel and the
demon. When they pepressed further, he told them what Chemosh had
done.
Dark-haired Andronicus waded into the dark archieves of the past on
how the foul spirit had wecked the family of a missionary to
sub-saharan Africa in the preceding years after David Livingstone (the
great missionary)'s death. He told them how this unknown gospel
labourer's daughters were tempted and led away from Christ during
their father's mission to Africa. It was so bad that when it was time
for the man's periodic leave to England, his daughters weren't just
immoral, they were living in brothels. The hard facts hit him like an
express train. He was so heartbroken that it affected his health
greatly. Immediately he returned back to his station in Africa, he
fell sick and a few weeks later, went to meet his Lord. The work he
had laboured tirelessly to pioneer was grounded for the next 50 years.
He had no one to uphold his arms as Aaron and Hur upheld that of Moses
in the Israelites' battle wit the amalekites at Rephidim.
It was Chemosh who had done the harm to the missionary's daughters and
the angel was not going to let him go scot free.
The most painful part to the warrior was that this missionary, whom
Andronicus was assigned to take care of, had died before his time.
The story kept its listeners transfixed. It was a tale of love and
faith, hope and trust, and of betrayal and a turning aside to bo evil.
The spellbinding effect of the story was broken by the worship that
sudden emanated from the praying man. Immediately, the three warriors
felt supernatural strength surging through their bodies as they were
submerged in the glory of God's mobile presence.

Angels On Guard. Keep Off!

Zenas, the European and Olyrus the Greek couldn't explain the
commotion outside. When all the noise had died down, they wanted to b
sure that it wasn't a stronger foe eliminatng a bigger foe so as to
pose a bigger threat. Unable to suppress his curiosity anymore, Olyrus
walked through the closed termite-infested door into the corridor.
Standing there, he saw Andronicus in the compound. He towered
eight-feet from the ground in full glory: wings unfurled, sword drawn
and sparklin, eyes set and intense, and countenance shining. His face
was unruffled and his sword stained, indicating he had just prevailed
over an enemy. The rays of extra-terrestial light emanating from his
celestial body bathed the surroundings in a holy radiance. The trees
looked like bronze statures with leaves modelled from emerald. The wet
ground was as polished copper. The building's faded yellow paint
metamorphosed into gold, as if the building had been cast with it. The
louvres seemed to be made of silver, not glass anymore. The glorious
rays covered a parameter of twenty metres square.
The glorious radiance only lasted for few minuted before the
supernatural gave way to the natural. It only happened to give the
earth an infinitessimal foretaste of what heaven looked like.
Olyrus wndered how Andronicus knew that Chemosh, the demon had entered
the skies above Nigeria. He sheathed his sword, then took giant
strides to greet his friend who sat on the fence. As he approached,
Andronicus, the Roman stood up to acknowledge his greeting.
After they had exchanged pleasantries, Olyrus turned and called out,
"Zenas, Andronicus is here. He has taken care of Chemosh, and I assure
you it won't hurt to say hi to him."
Turning back to Andronicus he said, "Come, let's watch over him
together." he was referring to the praying man.
Andronicus smiled for he delighted in watching men pray. Their prayers
had come in handy when direly needed. He greatly admired the praying
man. Men like him had entered nations on their knees through prayer;
nations their physical eyes will never behold till they breath their
last. People like him would be given great awards on the last day for
mighty deliverances they had brought thru prayer.
Andronicus knew how the praying fellow had helped him prevail over a
tribal demon prince in far away India. He shuddered as he remembered
the onslaught on the peaks of the Himalayan mountains. He still
remembered his terribily bruised knees, his ripped tunic, his fatigued
body and how profusely his side was bleeding before the man started
praying. He was fighting under the cover of darkness and needed the
light that only prayer could bring. As the incense of the man's prayer
entered the courts of heaven, immediately light began to break forth.
As the man's prayer intensified, so did the incense ascending into
heaven increase and so also did his strength return. The more
persistent the supplication, the more Andronicus' prevailed. Until he
smote his enemy and cast his ruin upon the mountain side. This all
took place before the glorious light of the gospel could shine and
penetrate through the hearts of men blinded by the demonic prince. His
deepest longing was for more intercessors in the kingdom. It always
helped in angelic warfare.
Olyrus and his companion met Zenas with his sword sheathed, nerves
relaxed and a smile on his cherubic face. Instantly, he was given a
bear hug by Andronicus.
After the greeting, Andronicus told them why he had come.
He said, "I left Abidjan immediately I learnt from a friend that
Chemosh was in Nigeria. I was told that that foul spirit had  been
seen on the skies above the border that this country shared with Benin
Republic. That was when i knew that my long awaited revenge had
finally come.
When he was asked what he meant by a long awaited opportunity, he
continued his story.
"You do not know Chemosh! He is more skilful and crafty, than he is
devilish! He has escaped from major battles. I was amazed by how he
did it, until lately. Right from the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah
till now, he has eluded been vanquished. I wil explain." And he went
ahead to do so.

FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

FIRE ON THE MOUNTAIN

By

Chijioke Victor Uche

07030668300

      When they gathered at the police station after her daughter died, she couldn’t help but admit that she had been foolish. She had seen all the signs, encountered all the facts and stumbled on undeniable evidence but still refused to believe that her husband had betrayed her. As he sat shamefaced on the cold cement floor before the policemen with only his boxer shorts on, she felt a bout of revulsion towards him. They had given him a severe beating. Yet she couldn’t understand how he could do that to her daughter – their daughter. She earnestly wanted to unleash her wrath on him, but to what end? Lucy was gone…gone forever by the same hands that had vowed to protect her. She was just twelve years old. So fair…so cold…like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter’s chill. What happens when the only person that can wipe away your tears brings tears to your own very eyes? If only she had been more careful, more watchful, more vigilant. But how could she know that a man could be so callous? Amaechi could never hurt a fly. Where did he summon the strength to send his daughter to the great beyond before her feet could be firmly planted on the fountain of adolescence?

      “Daddy has always been doing it to me since I was twelve,” was Mercy’s tearful confession after her sister died. Ifunanya was thunderstruck! She couldn’t believe my ears. It couldn’t be possible. Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen! She counted with her fingers. Four years. Four damn years! Under one roof! How was I so blind? she wondered. So much had happened under her nose. How come Mercy never told her?

      “He threatened to beat me if I tell you,” her teenage daughter tearfully said. “He said that you won’t even believe me, if I suggested it.” And she was right. Even a circus lion learns to sit on a chair due to fear of the whip. When her daughter wanted to ask her questions about sex, she had made no attempts to answer. So the nightmare continued. It’s painful to know after tragedy has struck that one had the power to have averted it, if only closer attention had been paid.  

      She remembered the night she heard a cry from the girls’ room. That was four years ago. When she got there, she saw her husband, their father with them. He was sweating heavily. When his wife asked him what had happened, he said that he had heard Mercy scream when he was doing his last rounds to ensure that everywhere was well secured. When Mercy wanted to talk, he hushed her and told her to go to bed; then assured his wife that all was well. Ifunanya could see the fear in her daughter’s eyes. It was more than could be inflicted by a nightmare. She could see her daughter’s desire to hug her and unveil her heart to her mother. But that night, when Mercy needed her most, she turned her back on her first daughter. That night, she lost her daughter’s attention! Mercy never trusted her mother again. The one who could have shielded her in her moment of dire need had turned her back on her on the night of her violation. When she had made an attempt to seek her mother’s refuge, she had delivered the death stroke. In Mercy’s young heart, her mother was her father’s accomplice. If only she knew the story of Julius Caesar, she would have asked her mum: Et tu, Mummy?

      Ifunanya didn’t see the blood-stained bed sheets. Her eyes were shut to the torn underwear hidden under the pillow. Her trained nostrils failed to pick up the smell of semen smeared on her daughter’s body. Her ears acted as though they didn’t hear the sound of the WC as the used condom was flushed down the toilet. She didn’t want to act paranoid. Alas, she was mistaken.

      What one sister had survived could not be borne by the other. That was the mistake Amaechi made. While Mercy was strong, Lucy was weak. While Mercy was bold, Lucy was shy. They were exact opposites, but loved each other dearly…until Lucy turned twelve. Their mother noticed that the level of affection between them had dropped. Mercy always helped her younger sister until she approached her teenage years. Then Mercy stopped helping her with her assignments. Refused to assist her with her share of household chores. And suddenly started acting cold towards her father.

      When Lucy started approaching puberty, her father started lavishing her with gifts. That was the same way he had started with Mercy, her elder sister. Now that the attention of the father was shifting from the elder to the younger, the elder one was not finding it funny. As usual, their mother was stupid enough not to notice. Every day when he arrived from work, he always bought Lucy gifts and feminine wears. Ifunanya was concerned but threw it to the wind. After all he was her father. He was just playing his fatherly role. Thus she let the abomination continued.

      But Lucy’s shyness didn’t mean that she was daft. She wasn’t one who would die in silence. She wondered and questioned this lavish show of attention. Many times she asked her mother why dad bought gifts for her only and left her sister out. She didn’t like the seething hostility of her sister toward her neither did she want it to seem as though they were striving for their father’s attention.

      One day she asked her father one night as the family sat at dinner, “Daddy, Do you love me?”

      “Yes,” he replied.

      “Do you love my sister?”

      “Yes, I do. Why do you ask, dear?”

      “Why then do you buy gifts for me alone and buy none for her? You give me the impression that you love me more than her or that you don’t even love her at all. You have created an enmity between me and my sister. I don’t like it.”

      There was an unusual silence when she was through. Mercy didn’t know what to do or say. She felt like hugging her younger sister. But Lucy was not through yet.

      Standing from her seat, she went towards her father and knelt down before him and said, “Daddy, I know you love me but please if the gifts you buy for me will make my sister my enemy, please don’t buy them again for me. I beg you!”

      Then getting up from her knees with tears in her eyes, she ran into the room she shared with her elder sister. Dinner had ended unceremoniously. Mercy’s heart had been won by her sister. Their mother as usual, left the girls to fix themselves.

      After that night, they became closer than before. A little while after that, Ifunanya got a job as a nurse in a prestigious hospital. It was not necessary for her to get a job. Her husband was adequately taking care of her and the family. No matter how much Lucy persuaded her mother to turn down the job, Ifunanya totally refused. This was the season of Women Empowerment. She wasn’t going to be left behind. All her friends were making waves in their respective careers and professions. And her husband did not have any objection about the job. As a matter of fact, he supported her.

      But Lucy saw it coming…she had the feeling that things will go wrong if mummy started work. No matter how much she pleaded with her mum, Ifunanya’s heart was as strong as stone. Nothing was going to change her mind. There was no turning back!

      As Ifunanya sat on the stool in the DPO’s office, she now saw how she had traded her daughter’s love and life for a job. A job that looked vain now.

      When Amaechi was asked why he did what he did, he didn’t say it was the devil. He told the truth. He said that he was attracted to their slender bodies whenever he saw them wear towels after they had their bath. He said the wetness of their hair, the moisture of their skin and the rise and fall of their breasts when they shivered with cold set his blood on fire.

      Ifunanya could not believe her ears. So there was an ulterior motive in carrying their daughters on his lap and stroking their hair. There was a vain intention in desiring to help dress them for school. So there was more than a fatherly attention attached to the goodbye kiss every morning. As the memories came swimming into her mind, she felt like she would faint.

      Then she remembered the day she came back from work to meet her first daughter, Mercy and her dad in a shouting match. Lucy was behind Mercy as though she was shielding her from a threat. No matter how much she pressed the parties involved to let her know what was wrong, no one was ready to tell her. How could Lucy explain that her daddy was caressing her as she lay asleep on the couch? How would Mercy explain to her mummy that Daddy wanted to do to Lucy what he had been doing to her for five years now? Did she expect Amaechi, her husband to confess that he was trying to defile his younger daughter? No, it wasn’t possible. So, the abomination continued.

      She was brought back from memory lane with the sound of a cracking slap on her husband’s face effectively delivered by a policeman.

      “How did it happen?” the policeman asked him.

     

      Before he could answer the question, Ifunanya launched into memory lane. She knew how it happened. It was the faithful day that she made the greatest mistake of her life. She made a decision that took away the shepherd and left the prey unprotected before the predator. It was the day that she decided to go for a night vigil with her first daughter, Mercy. She had never gone for the church’s night vigil alone or with her daughter. The family always went together for the vigil. So when her husband said he was too tired to go, she made the worst decision of her life. She told Mercy to get ready. No matter the antics that Mercy deployed to make her mother change her mind, Ifunanya still insisted. So Mercy got ready.

      When they were about to leave the house, Lucy ran to her mummy, held her flair skirt and asked her a question that would always break her heart as long as she lived, “Mummy, why are you leaving me? I want to come with you. Let me come with you.”

      “Stay with your daddy. He will take care of you,” the impatient mother replied.

      “Mummy, please let me come with you. I beg you! Please! Don’t leave me behind. Stay with me. Mummy, please!”  Ifunanya ignored her and walked away.

      As she walked away, Lucy called after, “Mummy, I love you!”

      “And I love you too,” Ifunanya said carelessly and walked away. If only she knew that was the last time she would hear her daughter’s voice, she wouldn’t have left her.

      Three hours later, she got a call from a hospital. Lucy was bleeding severely. How? When she got there, she saw her husband sitting on a chair with his head in his hands.

      She ran past him into the doctor’s office and asked for an update on her daughter. It was too late. She had died of severe bleeding from her private part and accumulated psychological issues. The doctor had found sperm deposits in her private part and was sure this was a case of violation. He had already called the police. They would be here soon. She was so frail. The doctor told Ifunanya Lucy’s last words:

Tell daddy I forgive him. Tell Mercy I love her.

      There was no word for mummy.

      Who would have done this to her. She had no house help; neither did she have any male relative living with her nor a driver. There was only one suspect: Her husband! How was that possible? It couldn’t be, she thought. But there was no other suspect.

      “I’m so sorry,” Amaechi said when she came out of the doctor’s office. The look on her face immediately told her that he was the culprit. She didn’t know which offence he was sorry for. Was he sorry for committing incest or for the death of his daughter by his hands?

      When the police came to arrest him, Amaechi didn’t even resist.

      Madam! Madam! Madam!!

      The shout of the DPO pulled her out of the past.

      “Please go home. We will communicate with you. We will make sure that justice runs its full course. We have substantial evidence to nail him.”

      As she left the police station by 12pm on that painful Saturday, she wished she had listened to her motherly instincts.

      A call came to her phone. It was her boss. He wanted to know where she was. She was late for work. She knew that the punishment was severe. A 15% deduction in her monthly salary.

      “Sir, I am no more interested in the work. My family is more important to me than this job,” she replied and ended the call. She was going to make up for her mistakes. She called Mercy.

When she came to her, Ifunanya hugged her and said, “I am sorry for the mistakes I made. Please forgive me”

      Mercy nodded as both of them wept.

      But will things ever remain the same again?

While He Prayed...

       All was dark in the dinky room. The rickety standing fan, silhouetted
against the moonlight filtering in through the louvres, created an
illusory apparition that could drive a toddler out of his wits. The
room had an impressive alcove improvised as a make-shift wardrobe.
Outside, crickets shrieked love calls to one another just as the moon
illuminated the environment and landscape in an alabaster-white
colour, pacifying for the power outage. The room was bare except for
few essentials scattered around. It was the first room by the right in
a bungalow of ten rooms. The compound had a low fence because the
inhabitants of the building were confident that only miserable thieves
would attempt to break in. The room was fitted with everything a
bachelor could have to make life a bit comfortable in an economy where
most of its citizens lived below the poverty line.
       Everywhere was quiet save for moans and groans. Sprawled on the
carpet was the figure of a man in his early forties. Amidst the cold,
as a result of the rain that had tempered down to a drizzle, he was
drenched in sweat. His eyes were filled with tears and phlegm cascaded
down his nostrils like Niagara Falls. The prayer he intended to make
for a good night rest had escalated to holy travailing lasting from
the last three hours of a day to the first four hours of a new day. On
the carpet he wept. This was his act. This was his ministry in the
kingdom.
       “Oh Lord,” he wept, “redeem the desolation of our land and generation.”
       His tears were torrential; his heart was the semblance of an
over-inflated balloon. He interceded with holy boldness, but not
arrogance. He prayed hard and long with intensity and passion. The
Lord’s burden on his soul beclouded the yearnings of his flesh. He had
prayed in the spirit for long hours that his mind had ceased to know
what was been sought for and had fallen silent. Then like the sound of
many waters, the Holy Spirit spoke within him. He was accustomed to
that voice, had felt His tremendous power and had vowed to obey him,
no matter the consequences.
       “Pray for Humphrey Williams,” the Spirit instructed. “And if you must
wrestle for his salvation and that of his son, you must pray like
you’ve never done.”
       At that instruction, holy passion filled his spirit setting him
afire. He let out a bone-chilling cry as only a battle casualty could.
His intercession penetrated his entire being – spirit, soul and soul –
as never before. Right now, he started groaning intensely for there
was no language in the tongues of men nor angels to convey how he felt
to God his body contorted and relaxed in quick successions as his
cries were incoherent. He knew that he had to sow in tears in order to
reap in joy. He knew that his deepest satisfaction came after he had
seen the rewards of his long travails.
       While he prayed, the wind blew as his accuser came. His prayers had
had nosedived whenever his accuser came reminding him of his past sins
and how God would never forgive him. At the moment of securing an
answer to his prayer, these accusations ruptured his faith and made
waste to night long battles in prayer. So that night, two angels stood
unglorified in his room, ready for battle.


       From a corner Chemosh appeared. He was a hideous creature with
leathery wings, foul-smelling skin and stinking sulphuric breath. He
moved across the skin with outstanding cat-like grace. His presence
covered every trace of light, colour or sound in thick darkness, as
his savage yellow eyes sought his prey. Earlier on, he had wondered
why one of his minions had not been sent, instead of him, on an
assignment he deemed degrading. When he was intimated with the degree
of opposition the praying man had caused on his knees, he volunteered
eagerly for the job. Three fingers in each hand were embellished with
rings of different precious stones. Onyx, quicksilver, and jasper.
Discernible on the little finger of his left hand was his master,
Shishak’s ring. A prize he treasured more than his own very existence.
Various medals hung from his neck. They were awards from his various
masters for various victories. Masters! How he hated them! How he
despised them! But as he dove down towards that familiar street, with
wings and limbs that were obvious accessories in his movement because
he moved forward without their aid, his mind was firmly set on his
target.



       Chemosh landed with a thud oblivious to mortal ears. He drew his
weapon and made quickly towards his target, seeking his prey. What a
perfect night to wreck evil, he said in his heart. He kissed the
signet ring, blessing his luck and believing that the coast was clear.
As usual he melted through the padlocked Iron Gate as though it never
existed. Approaching the door to the corridor, he slowed down,
assuring himself that there was no need to hurry. After all, he had
two full hours before daybreak. He paused, looked at the moon and his
immediate surrounding and felt very uneasy. There was something
strange about that night. He had a premonition that that night would
be his last. Nevertheless, he debunked the idea.
       As he set foot on the doorstep, he sensed looming adversity. He
turned abruptly. Right before his eyes, his premonition became real.
       WHOOSH!!!
       In the air few metres from where he stood on the wet sandy soil were
a pair of flaming eyes filled with holy indignation, set in a
well-sculptured face of a muscular body that had a head overflowing
with long jet black hair, borne on immaculate wings. It was a warrior
angel. It suddenly occurred to Chemosh that he was under attack. He
lifted up his sword to defend himself.
       “I won’t go down alone,” he cried.
       “We shall see!” his attacker thundered in a loud voice as he struck
the weapon from Chemosh, the demon’s hand in one neat swipe. Chemosh
lunged at the angel with bared talons. The angel ducked and as the
demon went past him, threw a clenched fist at the demon’s spine,
sending him reeling to the floor.  Chemosh made for the nearest tree
in a desperate attempt to escape. However, the angel anticipating such
tricky move sent the demon back to the floor with a stunning blow to
the chest.
       The demon lay helpless on the ground on the ground as the angel
advanced towards him. The angel’s long jet black hair totally covered
his face as he said, “Ancient Romans had a saying: “De inimico non
loquaris sed cogites.”
       Feeling stupid, Chemosh asked, “What the hell does it mean?”
       “It means, ‘don’t wish ill for your enemy; plan it.’ That’s what I
did to you. You will trouble praying men no more.”
       Chemosh, sensing his demise, made for his weapon in order to make
good his threat or at least draw some blood. The angel desiring a
flawless victory went after his foe and with one smooth swipe of his
sword beheaded the demon. The demon’s hands were only millimeters from
his weapon. The last sight Chemosh had as he disintegrated into the
abyss in puffs of smoke was a pair of sapphire eyes that he had
avoided for many centuries. Before he vanished totally he whispered to
the angel, “So you finally caught up with me, Andronicus.”
       The fight was over even before it began